


Devil Town (ĐɆVłⱠ ₮Ø₩₦)

by trustxlovexhope



Category: Fall Out Boy, Mindless Self Indulgence, My Chemical Romance, Paramore
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Anxiety, Asphyxiation, Cheating, Choking Kink, Comfort Sex, Depression, Dom/sub, Emotional Sex, Family Issues, Gay, Gender Dysphoria, Jealousy, Light daddy kink, M/M, Past Abuse, Rough Sex, Smoking, Smut, Spanking, Transgender, Whump, erotic asphyxiation, ice kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-10-29 21:30:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17815874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustxlovexhope/pseuds/trustxlovexhope
Summary: frank was the moon. gerard was the sun. and every night, gerard died so frank could breathe.





	1. life’s alright in devil town

it had been two weeks since frank had last showered. two and a half days since he had last eaten. and everything in his cupboard was empty or rotting. his apartment smelled of death. his eyes were gray. his clothes were gray. a sweatshirt. sweatpants. everything felt too cold for him. everything seemed like too much for him. and every waking moment felt like a moment closer to death. he didn't want to die. no, he didn't. maybe he did. but he felt as though he didn't. maybe he just wanted to rot away until the maggots found him and the last person to have seen him alive was two years prior and that was his friend who lived two states away and rarely checked in on him. it was just a lucky drive by. no texts from frank for a while. he was worried. so he came inside, knocked of course, but he came inside and he checked and frank wasn't there. and he'd find him in his bed, staring at the moldy wall, cobwebs infiltrating his closet and his eyes would be dried out and his hair would be far beyond greasy and he would be sad. and his friend would call 911. but they can't do anything for someone who's been dead for two years and maybe frank would have liked it. his last days. maybe he would. 

but all he can do is fantasize from his apartment, eyes on the tv screen. hair greasy, clothes sweaty. scars on wrists. slits and thighs. red eyes. frank isn't sure what gets him up. what gives him the energy to grab some nicer clothes, a leather jacket and skinny jeans. and he isn't sure why he takes a shower and brushes his teeth and shaves his ass, but he does. and he thinks about maybe he can feel something if he goes out to that club off of main and fifth and he grabs himself a drink and forces himself to confront that man with the black hair and piercing eyes, maybe he will feel something. so he does. 

and it's everything he hates. he doesn't dare safeword. even if he wants to. but the man pulls him aside, forces him on his knees despite the fact that frank does not have the strength to put effort into it. his eyes are half closed, his lips in a solid o, drool down his chin. he looks up at him through fluttered eyelids, imagines himself anywhere else. and the man pulls him off and forces him into weak feet, "come to my place?"

"okay." frank says. and they're off. frank stays on his phone the entire drive. they get there. the man is less than impressed when frank undresses.

"what's up with the scars, you trying to act edgy or should you just not be here right now?" he asks. 

"i probably shouldn't be here but if you don't fuck me right fucking now, i'll probably end up blowing my brains out," frank says, monotone as it gets when you're joking about suicide. 

the man frowns, slightly concerned, but that just pisses frank off and he rips off the other's jeans, jerking him up, "daddy? sir? master?"

"gerard," he says.

"i didn't ask for your fucking name," frank snarls, more aggressive than necessary, but he's in a bad mindset and everything inside him tells him to just feel something. even if it hurts, "what's your title?"

"sir is fine," he says, "you don't have to be mean about it."

"fuck off, i can be as mean as i fucking want to. you're the one in charge right now, so do what punishment you feel fits." frank says, tugging apart at the bedside drawers for lube or a condom or something, he manages to find it in the top drawer and he grins, looking back at the man.

"i don't know if this is the right time for this. are you sure you're okay?" he asks, worry in his voice.

"i'm fucking fine!" frank looks down, noticing the man is going limp, "you're fucking kidding me right now. are you fucking serious?"

"i'm just worried—"

"don't be, you fucking asshole," frank barks, squeezing the lube bottle too hard, "i didn't come out of my house, go all the way to that stupid club, and come back to this lousy ass fucking place just to attend a pity party. i'm here to get fucked. whether it be hard or soft. kinky or not. this is your night, you own me and if you're gonna be a fucking pussy about it i'll just leave!" 

gerard glares, "you're asking for it, boy."

"oh am i? i couldn't tell. let me make it a little fucking clearer for you!" frank says sarcastically, before glaring, "if you don't fucking fuck me face first into this bed with my arms fucking pinned down and hurting i will actually fucking leave this place and find someone better because you obviously don't do a damn good job at being a dom, i suggest if you can't put it up the ass, you take it up the ass because you obviously don't know what the fucking difference is."

frank is quick to lose his breath when his face is pinned down into the pillow and he hears the drawers opening and closing a few times. soon enough, there's rope, keeping his hands on the headboard and two hands forcing his legs apart as one slaps his ass hard and the other grabs the lube from frank, "fucking subs don't know how to fucking behave i swear to fucking god."

"oh i'm sorry, i didn't know that you were new to this. i'm frank, and your job is to put your cock into my hole as roughly as you can. you got that princess?"

"you're gonna regret those words, frank."

"then make me already," frank bites back. before he can really process it, rubber is poking at his ass and there's nothing but a thick layer of lube to push him open. but dear fuck is he ready. 

the next thing he knows, gerard is fucking him into the bed, his hips up much higher than anything else, his back arched beautifully, his cock hard and his fingers numb as the bed rocks into the wall and everything inside frank is fire, "holy fucking shit oh fuck. mmfuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

frank moans even louder when gerard forces his head into the pillows and he can't breathe and his legs are spreading farther, trying to get gerard in deeper. his heart is racing and his lungs are gentle about their scream at first, but eventually they're burning and frank does nothing. maybe he'll die here and gerard will just fuck him into his death. maybe he will never come back up and he'll die in pleasure and he'll bust his fucking load into this mattress just as he dies. he wants to let himself stay down, gerard is still firmly planted there, hands tight in his hair and frank is still moaning and crying and when gerard forces his hips impossibly closer forward, he screams at the angle, legs shaking. he wants to come up. everything tells him not to except for his lungs and the lack of oxygen to his brain but soon enough the want dies off and he has to come up, gerard lets him get a gasp but just after, he's pinned back down and he feels his cock twitch hard in response. gerard's still going hard, slamming his entire body into frank. 

frank screams into the pillow, hips twitching as he feels himself coming closer. he's whining and crying. because it feels so fucking good and frank hasn't had a fuck like this in years. it's rough and hard and his hips are aching but gerard's cock is right on top of his prostate and if that didn't already feel good, the tension on his ribs and lungs and gerard's hand in his hair and his other hand stroking frank just makes everything else fade away. frank is close, frank is so fucking close. he considers not asking permission, considers hush cumming but he knows gerard would probably punish him and frank does not have the energy for that tonight. when he feels his lungs burning and screaming. he pushes up against gerard hand and gasps, "can i cum, sir? please, fuck, please?"

"beg." gerard says, "and it better be good or else you won't be cumming at all, is that understood?"

frank groans. half from the sex, half from frustration. he wants to beg, sure. he can do that. but gerard holding his head down and placing him at the doorstep to death just sounds so much better. so much more pleasing and rewarding. frank whines, but eventually, when gerard's hand is going fast enough on his cock and his thrusts get harder, frank cries out and manages, "p-please, sir, just let me cum. i've been so good for you i-i learned not to talk back, i can be good and quiet and obedient. please, i just need to cum."

gerard pushes his face down into the pillow, frank rolls his eyes back, everything coming harder and he needs his release. after a good fifteen seconds, frank's legs shaking violently, gerard's spare hand coming from frank's cock to his hip. he leans forward and says, "cum with your face in the pillow."

he allows him one last breath before he's sent back down. it only takes about fifteen seconds to reach it, then another ten when frank finally does cuml. gerard goes for a good two more minutes, only letting frank up from the pillow when he pushes up. when gerard finally cums, he pulls up, gasping over and over again because as much as he was allowed to come up, it was only for one breath at a time and holy fucking god is frank happy gerard did that. the tautness in his lungs, the burning, the catch in his throat. it's amazing. it feels so bad that it's good. 

when gerard finally pulls out, frank is gasping and panting, eyes rolled back, his ass feeling disgusting but he gets used to it. he always does. gerard's eyes are half closed, black greasy hair, red eyes, dark grin. frank is still panting, but not near as much as gerard. he isn't even entirely aware of gerard until the boy sits atop him, pinning his hands on the bed above him, "how was that? you still think i'm a pussy?"

"i think you can improve. but i don't think you're a pussy," frank grins as gerard unites the rope, "you got a cig?"

"yeah," gerard replies, searching through the bedside drawer for his spare pack and lighter, he grabs two, presses one between frank's lips and presses one between his own before lighting both on the same flame. frank shuts his eyes, inhaling deeply as gerard rolls off and he finds his pants and underwear. 

"you're not leaving already, at least let me drive you home." gerard says, immediately pulling out the sympathy card again. frank rolls his eyes, taking a deep puff of the cigarette after biting down on the end, he needs the extra kick.

"no. fuck you. i don't need to be pampered."

"why did you come out tonight?"

"to get fucked, obviously," frank growls, "why?"

"it wasn't because... you need help or anything? i'm worried. i know i don't know you but i worry about stuff like that." gerard replies, "you told me how you were gonna blow your brains out."

"it was a joke."

"and the scars?"

frank hesitated, pulling out the cigarette, "they're older."

"only by a few months."

"do you not understand what a one night stand means, gerard? fuck. i can't believe you told me your name. and i sure as fuck shouldn't have told you mine. a one night stand is where you have sex. and then you both forget each other for the rest of your lives. this was a shitty ass one, too. you don't need to fucking psychoanalyze me, by the way. i'm not a danger."

"to yourself you are."

"i'm not. i'm clean, i shaved, i brushed my teeth."

"you still reek," gerard replies, "at least take my number?"

"fuck off!" frank barks, finishing off with his shoes, "fucking hell."

gerard goes quiet for a minute, then grabs the pack of cigarettes. when frank turns around again, he's handing it over. 

"what's this?" frank mumbles. 

"at least take them if you won't let me help you with anything else. i know they're not necessarily good but-"

"yeah, i got it," frank says, "bye, gerard."

"do you need a ride back to the club at least?"

"i'll walk."

"it's an hour long walk. it's dark out."

"i'll be fine."

"frank..."

"maybe i'll get raped, who knows." frank grins as he walks away.

"please?"

"get fucked!" frank yells, already down the street. gerard sighs to himself, unsure of what to do but he decides that maybe it's for the best. he just hopes the number in the cigarette box will do him good. he hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated! thanks for reading!!


	2. they’re right, no one’s gonna catch us now

xxx-xxx-xxxx 

frank has smoked through the entire pack and stared at that fucking phone number every day for two weeks now. he's just about out of cigarettes. his apartment smells like fucking trash and he can't find the energy to get out of bed and he finds himself crying when he catches himself in the mirror because he is a mess.

"i'm not. i'm clean, i shaved, i brushed my teeth."

"you still reek."

he hates that gerard's sweetness got to a cold bitter heart such as his own. and he hates that he wants to call. because this morning, he stared at the ceiling, thinking of nothing, unable to get out of bed because as hard as he tried, he could not do it. he couldn't force himself into the shower. he couldn't force himself to even get on the couch. he spent four hours in bed thinking about how he was wasting his life and how he felt like vomiting and how he didn't want to do anything because there was something heavy in his heart that spiked up whenever he moved and no matter how hard he tried to sit up, or move, or do anything but breathe, he just couldn't. he cried at one point, and he lost track of how long he did that. all he remembers is that he was crying about the money in his hall and in the vent beside his bed and his closet and his attic and how his father had to leave him like this. and how his mother had disowned him the moment his father left them. because she would not have a son that was impure. 

frank could not get over that. it was a brick wall and he could not jump and he was driving at 60 miles an hour and there was a stone glued to the gas and there was no break and the steering wheel would not move and no matter how hard frank may have tried to break the windows, all he succeeded in was drawing blood. in his knuckles. in his tears. and he was drowning and maybe it was the intensity before the actual collision that scared him the most, and the anticipation for his head bashing open and blood splattering the windshield and pale hands reaching up to muffle an already broken scream. and he would die, maybe even before he hit. and every thought always lead to that. every single thought of his family. of his wealth. his mother would have taken it all if he hadn't put his inheritance in frank's name. but he should have kept it. he should have burnt it with the rest of the family photos. 

he always had a dysfunctional family, though. his uncle had been a rapist, a pedophile, a child molester and frank stayed silent until he didn't. his mother was abusive, micromanaged everything, would scream at frank when he got anything wrong. his father loved him, but he died of age when frank was fifteen and, anyways, he was never around enough to truly give frank the love he needed. frank's paternal grandparents had died long before he was born. his maternal grandparents lived in alaska with the rest of his mom's family. his mom would always complain about jersey traffic and how much better it was in alaska. 

but frank was nine when his uncle cornered him in his bedroom. he didn't understand until he did. frank was thirteen when he told his dad. his dad told his mom. and his mom never once held him with any respect after that. frank spent years trying to figure out what he did wrong. how he could have fixed it. how it could have gotten better, but the moment he turned eighteen after living in his mother's basement for three years, he left with his inheritance and got an apartment, though he should have bought a house. his dad had enough. it was years of work as ceo of a company that sold cigarettes and alcohol. and people always spend so much money on that, don't they? frank never really did get it. he refused to take the job, despite the persistence but he did choose his father's predecessor. and for the past three years he's lived in this apartment. he never needed a job. he never needed anything. but a place to live. five million dollars in savings. five million. frank had always wondered if he should maybe manage it but every calculation he'd ever made always resulted in the same: he could buy whatever he wanted for the rest of his life. as long as he spent only $81,000 a year or less, he would be set until he's eighty. which he doubts he'll live to. but he can hope. 

he always just hopes. 

so he spent that morning. lying in bed for four hours. and he forgot to eat breakfast, oh well. he finally managed to get up at around one, wiping away stupid fucking tears that he hated having around. hoodie. sweatpants. stubble. he remembers a time when he used to shave the sides of his hair but now it's all grown out a few inches. which makes him depressed but when he wonders if he can summon the energy to, he only shakes his head. maybe he can get out of the house today. maybe. 

he tries to eat some ramen for an afternoon snack, something is better than nothing, right? he vomits a little while after, sobbing over the toilet and eventually he flushes it down and sorta brushes his teeth but when he stared at himself in the mirror, he sees his dad. and his mom, and he punches the glass. his knuckles don't bleed like he had hoped. 

frank forces himself to take a bath. less standing, less moving. less energy. he holds his head under. imagines gerard. he only comes up when it catches in his throat and his ribs carve in. he washes his hair with shampoo and conditioner. he reaches for the soap but when he runs it over his body, he considers making toast in the bathtub. he pushes it aside and washes away all the grease and dirt on him and sits in that for a while. he looks over at the bathroom counter. notices the last cigarette and he stared for a moment at the number. 

he pushes it away. tries to forget. he gets dressed. it's five. he leaves. grabs his keys, grabs that cigarette and a lighter and his phone. and he's gone. he drives for a while. stops at the gas station for cigarettes. goes out again. gazing at the different stores. it's mid winter. there is snow. frank wonders if he could suffocate in the snow. wonders if he really could choke himself to death. if gerard could choke him to death. he basks in that idea. stared at the phone number. lights the cigarette. and heads to the club. he isn't sure why. he doesn't want sex. at all. at least not the rough sex. he feels numb, but maybe that's what he wants to feel now. he drinks down a third shot, stares at his phone. stares at the cigarette box on the counter. and he enters: xxx-xxx-xxxx

it rings. once, twice. three times. 

"gerard way, who is this?" he sounds like he's panting, frank's heart plummets and his eyes widen as he clenches the table. 

"h-hey. gerard. um. it's frank. from. the one night stand, a few weeks ago." frank clears his throat, "i-i hear your busy, though, so um. call me back i guess? if you get a chance i'm at the club. so, yeah."

"fuck, shut up," gerard growls, moving the phone away from his face but frank hears it anyways and it hurts, "i'm not busy. i'll be there in about fifteen minutes if that's okay?"

"yeah, um..." frank tries to mask his tears, "see you then..."

he hangs up before gerard can say goodbye but he doesn't think he wants to hear it. he stares up st the drink menu, and calls to the bartender, "can i get another shot of something weak please? that'll be all."

she hums, short hair, dress shirt. it's a gay bar, sure. but there aren't near as many lesbians here. they're usually reserved for down the street. it's not like frank cares either way, though. he takes the last shot, leaves a twenty, and exits. he reaches his car, gets in the driver's side and pulls his knees up to his chest as he cries, locking the doors. he knows he shouldn't be jealous. it's not like he was gerard's number one. they were a one night. nothing more. nothing less. of course, gerard should be with other people but the jealousy. the feeling of guilt that maybe frank wasn't enough for gerard and gerard didn't care enough to try longer lingers in his conscious and he wants it gone, but it's the same poison that dripped from his mother's lips when she told him.

"you will never be a son of mine. a no good dirty faggot! a queer! god does not stand for this! i did not raise you like this!" consent was not a factor. his uncle being fifteen years older than him didn't matter, "you should be ashamed!"

he was. he is. and he still isn't enough. not for gerard. not for his dad. not for himself. he screams in that car. cries. sobs. he tried for gerard. and he accomplished nothing. of course gerard doesn't care enough. he never did. he did that because it was his duty to. that's all. and it makes him sick. 

he doesn't stick around long enough to see gerard come rushing back to the club, enter, search. and see nothing but the empty cigarette box on the bar. his number sketched into the lid. he gets a call from gerard. he doesn't answer. he doesn't want to. 

he never wants to again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. this is a little slow starting off, but there will definitely be smut in the next chapter


	3. dad has bought a new car now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some more angsty smut today :))

"hey, frank, what happened? are you okay? i'm sorry if you – "

"shut up," frank replies. he feels the coldness gasp at his skull, "i know you're worried about me. and i'm sorry for ditching."

"why did you do it then?"

"doesn't matter," frank sniffles, taking a drag and puffing the smoke out into his car, "i'm coming over. i'm horny. and i don't want to be friends. but you're a good fuck."

"uh, okay."

"unless whoever you were fucking isn't gone."

"patrick left a few minutes ago."

"patrick?"

"yeah, he's been a sub of mine for a while. nothing more, though." gerard replies, clearing his throat as casual as it gets, "do you know how to get here?"

"yeah. bye."

frank hangs up before gerard can reply. the bar was a few hours ago. it's about eleven but he doesn't really care. he can't find the will to care about anything right now besides getting fucked. or feeling something. maybe that's an excuse for some deeper feeling inside of himself but he's always found shrinks agonizing and he's never liked being analyzed. he doesn't like the idea of someone being inside of his head, and he hates the idea of anyone caring about him enough to try. that's why gerard pissed him off so much on that one night. that's why he had screamed at him. it was unnecessary. he was a stranger, and frank was just some lousy, greasy, sub who couldn't find the will to get out of the house no matter how hard he tries. he hates that he went off on him, he does. but he was pissed. he hates people who play the sympathy card because there's nothing to be sympathetic about.

he's a middle aged white bisexual man who probably has severe depression or some shit and makes up for it through sex and cigarettes. specifically post-sex cigarettes. frank loves those the most.

he's brought back when he sees the clock strike eleven-ten and he immediately starts up his car and drives up to gerard's apartment complex. he remembers clearly that it was about three down from the entrance, ground level. a27. frank's eyes are glazed over when he approaches the white door and takes in his surroundings. there's a window, covered with black shades and the door handle is smooth and silver. there's a skull resting on a table, styrofoam but decorated realistically and he wonders why he came here. he shouldn't invest his time into someone who has another person in his life. he wonders if gerard is cheating or if the so-called 'patrick' is okay with him being with other people. frank's always been the polyamorous type, as long as he trusts everyone. but he knows that doesn't apply here and it never will. gerard isn't his dom. he's a fuck. maybe he'll come back a few more times after this, but ultimately, he'll forget. and gerard won't matter to him just like everyone else who's ever been in his life. frank hates the idea of friends. life's too fucking short for people to have unreasonable attachments to people that will ultimately end in death or a break-off. fun moments don't last, but grief does. that's something that frank will always live by. always.

gerard is nothing more than a fuck. someone to hold him down and tell him how pathetic he is because he's tired of saying it to himself.

frank knocks. he loses track of how long he stands at the door for, but when he checks his phone right after, he realizes four minutes had passed. not long, but definitely too long to hesitate at a fucking door for. 

gerard answers, opens the door and smiles softly when he sees frank, "hey, good to see you."

"hi."

frank enters, gerard closes the door behind him and he says, slightly unprepared, "i wasn't sure what you wanted, rough or soft. but i thought maybe we could go a little softer this time, we had a dent in the wall last time."

"that's fine," frank says, admiring the room that he hadn't been able to before, "what did you have in mind?

"uhh, i filled up a bowl with some ice cubes... if that's okay with you. if not, we can do something else, i have toys and i'm very much open for suggestions." gerard replies, frank senses that he's trying to analyze frank, his mental health, his physical health. frank grimaces.

"that's fine."

"are you feeling okay?" gerard blurts. he didn't mean to. frank inhales deeply, trying to control his temper, then replies, "just... don't bring it up. please. i know you care. but i don't, alright? this is a fuck, nothing more. you got that?"

gerard nods, "you can lie on the bed, i'll get everything."

frank obeys, taking a seat on the bed and kicking off his shoes before lying back. he gazes at the decorations, lots of white, some black here and there, but mostly white. he notices a picture on his bedside table. a man with a gray beanie and brown hair and glasses and frank wonders who he is. probably another sub. he remembers seeing patrick leave the apartment and drive away. blond hair. a collar. he remembers the collar well. 

gerard returns with rope and the bowl of ice and frank is quick to take off his shirt and pants. before he can get to his boxers, though, gerard grabs his wrists and ties them to the headboard again and frank leans back when a blindfold covers his eyes, "safeword?"

"chocolate."

"are you okay?"

"yeah." frank grimaces. gerard presses a thumb to his lips and frank takes it in as the first ice cube rests on his lower chest, between his stomach and his chest. frank inhales, biting his lip, unsure of where it'll go, unsure of how it'll move. he can tell gerard has two fingers on it, though. frank takes in a deep breath as it moves up towards his neck, where gerard's thumb pulls out and instead rests on frank's throat where frank immediately moans and leans into it. gerard chuckles, deep and husky and frank feels it in his bones when he leans down, "do you wanna be choked, pretty boy?"

frank nods, "yes, please, please."

the ice cube circles one nipple and frank whines, arching up into it, at how cold it is and how it turns him numb. he loves it, he loves it so fucking much and he shivers when gerard blows air into it, turning it hard. 

"sir, ple—" frank can't get the rest of the plea out before the entirety of gerard's hand catches frank's throat and frank pants, tension surrounding the room. the ice cube still wanders, almost melted as it travels up frank's throat and stops in his mouth, "suck on it."

frank does, he does to feel anything painful and that's when gerard finally pushes down and frank's eyes roll back. he doesn't dare say a word as the next ice cube comes out and starts on the same spot, then travels up to the other nipple, surround it. frank gurgles as gerard presses down slightly harder, eyes rolled back under the blindfold. frank's lungs draw up, his ribs cave in, but despite his body telling him it's starting to get bad, he takes it anyways. to please gerard. to get any sort of gratitude out of him. maybe he'll get praise. he hopes he will at least. 

the ice cube wanders across both of his nipples, and gerard blows through it all, making his entire chest freeze, and it's fucking uncomfortably cold, but frank loves it anyways. he moans out what he can, arches his back and draws up knees. the ice cube in his mouth is long melted when the next one, much bigger arrives, and gerard lets go of his throat. frank gasps, swallowing down the left over water as his legs are forced down and gerard begins tying rope. and frank's heart begins racing. maybe it's because he doesn't like benign exposed. he hates it. and he knows that he's been in the same position since the beginning of the scene but being forced to be open, unable to hide, unable to pull up. that's terrifying. that's fucking horrible and frank's chest seizes up. 

"don't," he tries, "please, i can't do that.  i don't... i don't like being open."

"aren't you already?" gerard questions. 

"it's different," frank hisses back, "i just. can't."

gerard drops the rope from his legs and instead lets his hand wander up frank's thighs, shuffling around the tray. frank sighs, swallowing down the last of his ice cube as gerard places the new one on frank's lower stomach, just beside where his cock rests, soft.

"choke me again, sir?" frank asks, "please?"

"you like that, don't you?" gerard comments, "why?"

"doesn't matter." frank replies. because he really isn't sure why. he guesses it's because he likes the idea of being close to death, even if death isn't as close as he likes to imagine.

"tell me or i won't do it," gerard threatens, moving the ice cube to frank's inner thighs, frank moans, biting his lip.

"i genuinely don't know. it makes me horny. hot and bothered. why else would i like it?"

"do you just like being hurt, frank?" gerard asks, and those words ring out for hours inside of frank's mind. because deep down, somewhere inside him he knows it's the truth. he knows it's the only reason he ever goes out to clubs. it's the only reason he met up with gerard today. to get hurt. to feel something, anything. it doesn't bring him pleasure. it never fucking has. and that's the only reason everyone there likes it so much. this is a thing for masochists and sadists. for submissives and dominants. and frank is not a masochist. he is a sadist who loves to see himself suffer most. and that is something he will never truly get over. 

gerard awaits an answer. frank bites his tongue, and the ice is gone, back into the bowl, and gerard begins to lift the blindfold, but frank cries out, trying so hard to mask it all in a, "yes, i love to get hurt. gerard, please. i do. i really fucking do. just like every other masochist, please just... please keep on going, gerard. please?"

gerard is silent for a moment and frank would kill to see his expression, but soon enough he feels the hand around his throat and it squeezes down and frank's hips buckle and he leans up into it, begging it to be tighter, but he earns himself a firm slap and frank groans. 

"i'm going to untie you. and i'm going to choke you. but you are going to put the ice where i tell you, is that understood, frank?"

"yes, sir."

gerard is pleased, he unties one hand of frank's and places an ice cube in his hand just after tugging down his boxers, "put it on your inner thighs." frank is quick to oblige, his lungs are beginning to yelp, but he does it anyways massaging it over his inner thighs, placing them dangerously close to his cock, even though it's soft. he knows why and he doesn't want to admit it. 

frank grips the ice cube as gerard pushes down harder and frank strains for anything, trying to gasp through airless breaths, he stays under. he stays under because gerard wants him to and he wants to prove that he's okay and that he isn't broken. that he isn't broken. broken. 

"up your stomach, then over your cock, real fast," gerard says, pulling his hands away. frank gasps, coughing for air, dizzy. he feels light headed. more than he thought he would, and he wishes he could feel it more, so he nuzzles into gerard, desperate for more, but the dom only says back, "you need oxygen, at least for a little longer."

frank nods, sighing, shutting his eyes as his fingers slip the ice over his length a few times. he groans at how cold it is and how it almost hurts in a way, but gerard tells him to keep it on. 

frank whimpers, rubbing it up and down, feeling himself finally begin to stir, and he groans at the feeling, especially more so when gerard takes the cube and presses it between frank's lips, taking his cock into warm hands, "do you want to get off?" 

frank nods, shaking slightly, unsure of what to say, gerard rests his hand on frank's throat, and frank groans, pushing against it, desperate for more, and gerard gives, choking him down as his spare hand brings frank's to his cock and he begins jerking himself off, legs shaking. he isn't sure if it's from the cold of the ice or just needing to cum, but he's shaking. and gerard loves it. 

"i'll be back, you keep pumping, alright?"

frank nods, sucking hard on the ice cube in his mouth as the room shakes when gerard leaves. he returns soon after, though. frank isn't sure with what, but when he feels something smooth on his cock, he whines out, arching his hips off the bed. 

"beg for it like a good slut," gerard bites.

"oh fuck, sir," frank tries, "i-i need it, please, i've been so good. i-i touched myself how you wanted and i even had the ice, and–"

he's cut off when gerard shoves down his neck again and the vibrator turns on, massaging the head of frank's prick. frank is quick to cry out, legs shaking hard already. gerard brings it all the way up and all the way down, and he watches frank carefully the entire time, watches how his back arches, his his teeth catch his lip, how he whines when he reaches the very base, and it's only when he digs it into the top does frank cry out, his entire body trembling. gerard releases his hand, grabs another ice cube and places it so it follows the vibe across his cock, and when he blows cold air on it, frank sobs out, overstimulated already.

"i-i fuck, gerard, fuck, fuck, sir, i–"

"shh," gerard hushes, "cum when you need to."

frank cries when he does just a few moments after, tears escaping his eyes, his entire body shuddering as he cums harder than he has in months and gerard pulls off the vibe so he isn't sensitive. he places the ice back into the bowl and turns off the vibrator and sets it aside and milks what he can from frank's cock as he finishes off. frank is crying, though, genuinely crying, and gerard's heart sinks, "are you okay? frank?"

"i'm-" frank releases a belated breath, looking up as he tries to wipe teardrops from his cheeks, "i'm fine. i-i..."

he stops, taking in deep breaths as gerard unties the rest of the rope on frank, "i should go."

"stay," gerard asks, frank stops, "please?"

"i should get home."

"are you doing anything tomorrow?" gerard replies.

"i..." frank avoids his gaze, "i guess not..."

"then stay. please." 

frank lowers his eyes, considers it. he doesn't want to. not with gerard. but he's tired. and he knows that he'll only be depressed if he goes back. 

"okay."

"okay?"

"yeah... i'll... i'll stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, comments, kudos, and shares are appreciated


	4. we’re fine, no one’s gonna catch us now

frank is gone before gerard even wakes up the next morning. he feels bad for sleeping with him again he spends all this time building up barriers just to crash them down again and gerard is one of those wrecking balls. frank tries not to think about it. tries not to think about why he went back to that stupid house and got fucked and asked about his emotional stability. "do you just like being hurt, frank?" he knows gerard didn't mean it in a masochistic way, there was no smile to it, no cockiness. it was about self-harm and how frank doesn't do it, he lets other do it for him. he is an alien, hidden behind a firm gaze and leather jackets. he is a stranger, and he knows he shouldn't go to those clubs, but it's the only way he ever feels at home. the choking and the ice made him soft. gerard's fingers turned him on. and he knows that. and he knows gerard knows that. and it makes him sick. it makes him want to crawl in a hole and die and he actually considers it. he wonders what the difference would be, if we die today, or in fifty years. there will be none. we'll all still be living the same pathetic life, working the same pathetic job, paying the same pathetic bills, and for what? to get a house with more bills? capitalism was supposed to get him rich, but it only shoved him down into the deepest hole he could find. of course, he is rich. and he hates that. he really fucking does because he can live the luxurious life that he's always wanted, but there is absolutely nothing he wants with it. it's all him staying inside, watching tv but not really watching tv. pondering death, vomiting because he even has the slightest amount of tension. he is a hermit. a shitty one, but a hermit nonetheless. 

frank hates gerard, he hates patrick even more and it's not his place to hate patrick. gerard probably likes patrick better. he's skinnier, taller, blonder. he wears collars, frank wears nothing but sweats and if he's really creative, jackets. frank doesn't deserve gerard, and he never did. and after that night, he decided he would never come back to him. ever again. 

he arrives home at a quarter to six, his eyes darkened, his car barely trudging along, but he manages, and he parks, and he heads inside after locking it. he shuts and locks his door, and shoves away the image of patrick, forgets about him, forgets about gerard, and he considers calling up hayley for some help. but he decides otherwise. he collapses in bed, pulls up the sheets, and shuts his eyes with the lights on and still fully clothed. because if he sleeps, he doesn't have to be present. it's like death, but it's not permanent and frank loves that. frank always has. 

he wakes up at eleven, makes himself a sandwich, and stares at it for a good ten minutes, considering everything. and he wants to tell gerard. he wants to tell him everything. about his past, his neglecting father and his abusive mother, his uncle, what is most likely an eating disorder wrapped up in depression and topped with the bright and glittery bow of anxiety. the overwhelming urge to break everything in his house and stab himself over and over again until he inevitably dies, but how he doesn't really want to do that because that friend from two states away and her girlfriend would get worried. he wants to spill his guts out and then die. he wants nothing more than to hear something like, "it's going to be okay," or, "you're feeling this way and it's normal," or even a, "i'm sorry." because everything is shit. everything is making frank dizzy and he oversleeps because it's the only way to forget about how much he hates himself. how he feels uncomfortable and terrible in his own body. how he wants lindsey back here to tell him it'll be alright or even his mother to accept that he didn't choose to be a victim to his uncle. he didn't fucking choose to be neglected by his father, he didn't get a fucking choice in life and now it's pushing down on him and frank doesn't fucking know what to do anymore. he wants it to end. he wants to fall asleep forever and he wants to never leave his house and he wants to scream, dear god does he want to scream.

but he doesn't. he doesn't even allow himself a tear as he throws away the sandwich and punches the wall. it leaves a dent, and his knuckles scrape. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't satisfied. he doesn't tell gerard about it, he doesn't text, call, nothing. he does get a text back from gerard, though, "i'll be at patrick's tonight, but if you want to talk or meet up we can :) last night was a lot of fun, and i really want you to know you can talk to me if there's anything wrong. you don't have to hide."

of course he has to hide, though. because last time he didn't, his mother had screamed at him. about how impure he was. about how he deserved to die and burn in hell because god would not love him if he knew he was tainted. she never screamed at his uncle. never. he would still come over for dinners and the topic was always passed over and frank would be sent to his room because it was his fault, at thirteen years old, for leading his uncle on. his fault. and he never told his mother about anything else again. and he never told his father anything else, either. because he knew father would tell mother, and mother wasn't fun when she was upset. so frank stayed quiet. he always stayed quiet, even when he was brimming with excitement.

so no, he doesn't text back gerard. he grabs a cigarette, smokes it deeply, as deep as he can, bites down on the tip and throws the box aside before turning on the tv and ignoring it for the next two hours as, instead, he lays down and stares at the ceiling and wishes he was anywhere else. he contemplates suicide every few minutes, there's the bathroom upstairs, the bathtub, and the sleeping pills. or he could try buying a gun. he could go out to the bridge downtown, make it iconic. though, he doubts anyone would remember after a week. he tells himself, that maybe it's not worth it and he should just call up lindsey or hayley and tell them that it's an emergency, but at the same time, he doesn't want to. he hates bothering them. they live a ways away and he knows that it's only a two hour drive, but he still fucking hates it.

frank can't find anything else to do, he gets another text from gerard after a few hours, "are you doing okay?" and frank ignores that one as well, rubbing his eyes. five o'clock rolls around. he considers going out to the club but he doesn't have much of a sex drive and he doesn't want to leave, but he wants to do something. even if it's small. he doesn't have the energy to bathe, or socialize. he doesn't want to really do anything at all, but eventually he does find himself calling up hayley, sitting cross legged on his couch and staring at the wall, picking at his skin. 

it rings, once, twice. then hayley's voice rings out, "hello?"

"uh, hi, hayley." frank clears his throat, suddenly extremely self conscious of how awkward he is. 

"oh! frank! hold on lemme get lindsey and put you on speaker phone!"

"you don't have to, I-" but he does quiet at the end because lindsey shows up as well. 

"frank, hey what's up? it's been a fat minute," lindsey says, "how's new york treating you? it's been a while."

"uh, it's alright, uh. i haven't really gotten out of the house much. what about you guys? boston any better?"

"not really," hayley replies, "it's all work and taking care of the cats and the garden and more work. been too long since i've had a lazy day. i'm jealous of you."

"i'll send over some cash if you want," frank replies. he doubts he'll live past 30, honestly, "because i do care about you guys and i have too much money for someone who's 24."

"aww you don't have to do that, frank." lindsey says, "really, you need that money."

"no, it's okay. it's nothing compared to how much i have. i'll give you like ten thousand. it's like... point two percent of how much i started off with. i never use it. honest, i'll send it over now," frank says, "maybe we can hang out sometime, though, if you want."

"uh... yeah, sure!" hayley grins, "thank you so much, frank. honest."

"it's fine, i gotta go," frank says, suddenly not wanting to talk, "maybe we can meet up this weekend."

"saturday? at 3? okay, we'll be there."

"wait–" but the call is already over. frank grimaces. saturday? fuck that. he internally screams at himself for calling in the first place, but he does end up grabbing that ten thousand later. after setting down his phone, he grips his hair and heads to the bathroom, having to take a piss. he's got a headache and it feels like nothing is going right and he just feels like crying but the moment he turns on the light and sees himself, he feels sick to his stomach. 

bruises. there are so many bruises up his collar; around his throat. yellow and blue and red and purple. a handprint. gerard. frank grimaces. not because he didn't enjoy it. but because he hates those marks more than anything. he hates that not only is he trying to get rid of gerard, but now he has to fucking cover up what was left behind. he hates that more than anything. so he shuts off the lights. and does his business. and washes his hands and leaves. he doesn't turn on the lights for another week, when the bruises have faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a short chapter oops. but hope you enjoyed anyways. this is getting a little slow but these next two chapters are definitely gonna speed up soon. hope you all enjoy! comments and kudos are appreciated!!


	5. Chapter 5

saturday rolls around sooner than frank could have anticipated, and he fucking hates it. he spent the entire week in cycles. from 'i need to clean the house so hayley and lindsey don't worry about me' to 'i shouldn't clean the house because i really need help and they might finally find some for me' to 'i can't clean the house because i'm so drained but i don't want lindsey and hayley to worry because i don't need help' and back to the beginning. he would never ask for help because he doesn't need help, he's fine. he's overreacting if anything even if it wasn't until friday when he finally got up, got dressed, took a shower and cleaned the bathroom, went downstairs, chugged at least a liter of coffee and then spent the rest of the day cleaning the entire house. at the end, three full trash bags piled up by his bin and everything seemed just about spotless. and by saturday, only a small mess had accumulated. 

gerard stopped calling and leaving messages after day three, ending with, "i'll stop texting but i'm really worried about you. please talk to me at some point when you feel up to it. even if it's just another one night stand." frank ignored that too, even though he'd be lying if he said he hated the bruises around his neck. he isn't sure why. maybe it's because it's the mark that gerard was there, that someone had violated his body and beat him up enough that he didn't have to do it himself. the scars on his skin are old and worn down and he considered renewing them but he knows that lindsey or hayley would find out somehow and it doesn't give him the same rush as gerard did. gerard is probably his favorite method of self-harm even if he doesn't want to fuck him again and even if he still feels sort of betrayed by him. 

saturday comes, and even though frank slept in until two, he still manages to make himself presentable in the hour he has. he showers in the dark, dries off and dresses in the dark, because he can't stand to look at the bruises. they remind him too much of gerard and he doesn't have the emotional stability to think about gerard because if he thinks about gerard then he wants gerard and he's not supposed to want gerard. gerard has a sub already and frank knows that it's fine, they've probably been around much longer than frank when he met frank, but it still doesn't make it okay. frank still feels like he's a second choice even though logically he should be okay with it, but he isn't. he just tells himself it's fine even though he catches himself thinking late at night why didn't gerard say anything else after three days? does he not care? was it too much? is he with patrick instead? did he forget? does he not care? and he hates those thoughts so he tells himself that he doesn't care about gerard and he never did. 

he clears his thoughts of the man when three finally rolls around and lindsey and hayley show up at 3:15, hayley sporting a bright orange ponytail and light colors and lindsey with her darker, grungier look. frank plasters a smile as he watches their car park and they come to the house in a flurry of, "i missed you!" and "how have you been?" and "it's been so long." frank must admit, seeing lindsey and hayley around brightens up his mood and he doesn't have the fake the smile as much as he thought he would. 

"what's up? how have you been?" hayley asks as soon as the small talk of the arrival dies down and the conversation begins. frank has to consider that question for longer than he thought he would, but he knows his approach to them right now. he's fine. 

"i've been great," frank replies, trying his best to sound genuine, "how about you?"

"we're good, really good," lindsey says, smiling up at hayley, fondly, "new york has been great. the people can be... rude, but i love our place. and we've been talking with an adoption agency."

hayley gives a grin larger than frank thinks he's ever seen on her, "we have news, really good news."

"oh?"

hayley sits up in her chair, "we've been approved for adoption, and we're going to get a girl."

frank grows a grin, genuine, more so than any he's had in the past year and he stands pulling hayley up from her seat and hugging her tight, "oh my god, i'm l so happy for you two!" he pulls away, "i get to be an uncle?"

lindsey nods as frank embraces her, too, "holy shit, oh my god."

lindsey laughs, "you're more excited than we were."

frank pulls away, "i love kids, genuinely, i do. and i've always wanted one but i'm just, not in a place in my life i could have one. and i just... i'm so happy for you, i know that's something you've wanted for a while..."

"yeah, we're really excited. we'll be looking next week for a little girl," hayley smiles, "four or five years old, we do not have the time for an infant, but uh, yeah. were really excited."

"we should celebrate," frank jokes, not entirely serious, but lindsey looks at hayley and she nods.

"sure, what do you wanna do?" lindsey asks.

"what do you want to do? it's your kid." frank smiles. 

"i have ideas..."

•••

frank, hayley, and lindsey spend the next three hours at the mall shopping for everything a little girl could need, a crib, a high chair, stuffed toys, diapers, clothes, all with the ten thousand frank agreed to give over until the ten thousand comes down to eight thousand and hayley and lindsey's truck is filled with everything they bought and around the time 7 rolls around, frank suggests they go to the gay bar he first met gerard in. frank doesn't dare mention that, though, instead he just suggests the bar and says it's a fun time. somewhere deep inside himself, he hopes that gerard will be there but he doesn't let that thought leave his subconscious as they drive to the bar. he isn't sure why he wants to. maybe to fuck, maybe because he wants to see if patrick will be there, too, maybe to get an explanation as to why gerard didn't text back. maybe he just misses his face. dark locks and soft face. he turns away from that. 

frank is happy. surprisingly so. he hasn't felt this uplifted in months and he knows it's the good company. it's the mall and knowing he's gonna have a kid in his life that he can be with. it's having lindsey and hayley back and catching up on everything they missed out on. it's having a great time with friends he hasn't seen in years and getting to relive his life again, pulling out of a depression he's sunk into. lindsey and hayley have no clue about how fucked over he's been lately, and he hopes it'll stay that way. 

they arrive at the bar at 7:30, taking the same truck they'd brought everything in with the tarp pulled over the back to keep it secure and frank is the first one in, pushing open the door. the bar is full of men, and a few women spread out around, it's a gay bar but they've always been open to just about everyone. it's one community, even though most of the lesbians still go down the street. 

they find themselves a table by the tv and frank looks around, searching for a familiar face, but to no avail as he orders shots for the table. lindsey and hayley talk about work, about baby names, about vacations they could go on and it isn't until ten minutes pass when the front door opens and it's gerard and patrick who walk in through the doors and frank catches gerard's eye and everything just seems to stop. frank knew he would be here, not because gerard told him, but because there was a feeling deep inside him that told him to come here tonight. and his intuition served him well. he isn't sure if he wants to talk or fuck but he knows which one he'll choose anyway. gerard takes a seat at the bar, patrick by his side and he whispers something to patrick which is met with a stout nod. patrick is wearing a fishnet shirt, something humiliating that frank knows gerard made him wear and dark skinny jeans. through the shirt, though, frank sees scars, a flat line under each nipple and he suddenly has a new understanding of patrick. frank starts to hate him less, but he still dislikes gerard. 

frank doesn't linger on it, though, because patrick is eyeing him now, and it feels like the world is staring when he says something to hayley about going to the bathroom really quick. everything seems to be running in slow motion as frank goes to the bathroom and gerard follows ten seconds later. their eyes meet and suddenly, everything feels both completely fine, and terribly wrong. it isn't the same. nothing is the same. tho isn't the same energy frank felt when he left gerard's house last. 

"you didn't reply to any of my texts," gerard murmurs, tugging frank into the last stall, "i was worried-fucking-sick. what if you had died?"

"i didn't," frank hisses, "i just didn't want to talk."

"still scared the shit out of me, if we're gonna keep doing this, we need rules or something." gerard snarls. 

"i don't belong to you, we were a one night stand-" frank starts, but he's cut off when gerard pins him against the wall, hand wrapped around his throat, pushing down and choking him off. 

"i don't care, frank. you were acting shitty," gerard snarls, "i don't like being ignored."

this is heaven to frank, everything he could ever ask, but he knows this is wildly out of character for gerard and it's almost frightening in a way, but with how his body moves against frank and this is something frank's been dying for for a while, he doesn't protest. he couldn't if he wanted to with how sharply gerard's hand is on his airways. 

"you're not going to say a fucking word, frank, do you understand me? you're going to get down on your knees and you're gonna suck me dry like a good little whore and when you're done, we can talk." gerard is taking control and while it's not as rough as frank would maybe like it to be, it's still enough for him to find his hard-on through the fabric of his jeans. 

the moment the dom's hand leaves frank's neck, he drops down to his knees and is quick to unbuckle gerard's belt, but before he can get any farther, two hands are holding frank's behind his back and pulling them tight together under the leather strap and everything in frank's body is suddenly electrified and he groans against gerard's pants. gerard tugs down the pants and boxers and frank's lips immediately swallow him down, gazing up through dark eyelashes to gerard while he hollows his cheeks and slides down gerard until his nose nuzzles into gerard's skin. frank doesn't have control for long, though, because next thing he knows, gerard's fingers are tangling in his hair and pulling him off before pushing him all the way down, forcing his head to stay there for a minute. 

gerard doesn't talk through any of it, only gives out small pants as men filter in and out of the restroom and frank tries to bring gerard to the edge as well as he can. it takes a while, maybe because he's already cum a few times by patrick today, or maybe because he's not into it (which makes frank panic slightly) but after what frank guesses is at least six minutes, gerard finds himself fucking frank's face hard and fast right into that right vice of his throat until he lets out a low growl and cums down frank's throat, holding him as far down as he can until he's done and he pulls out, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"thank you," gerard whispers, tugging up his boxers and jeans and kneeling down to unbuckle the belt from frank's wrists, "we should talk."

"i can't. i have friends here. can you help me?" frank replies, gesturing to bulge.

"you don't have time to talk but you do have time to get off?" gerard asks, "i'm not gonna help you get off. not because you don't deserve it, but because you've been worrying me these past few days and i hate that. i don't want to force you to talk but at least let me know how you're doing."

frank groans, frustrated, "i told you, i don't want to be another patrick. it was one night, or two, doesn't matter. i don't want to have a relationship with you. i don't want you to be my dom and i don't want you to look after me. i can look after my damn self. i don't want anything to do with you!"

those words come out harsher than frank had anticipated, but he doesn't recall them, gerard glares at him with eyes more furious than frank's ever seen from him and it scares him for a moment and suddenly he's vulnerable and terrified but he keeps up his temper. 

"you weren't complaining when you were on your fucking knees five minutes ago, frank. you weren't fucking complaining when i had you choked against the wall!" gerard yells, raising his voice louder than either of them had thought this would go, "get ahold of yourself, frank. you came here for a reason, and you didn't deny this for a fucking reason. you want something with me but something deep down stops you from opening up. you need fucking help, frank. you need a therapist because you're fucked. you say you don't want it, and then you come around and you agree to fuck, you could have said no if you wanted, we both know that. i can't have a relationship like this, i don't like worrying about you like this and i need you to have rules, or just no relationship, i can't keep doing this, frank."

"go to hell!" frank cries out, "go to hell i don't need help!"

gerard shakes his head, "fuck this," and he leaves, slamming the door shut on his way out. frank punches the wall, once, twice, three times. his knuckles don't bleed but he knows they'll bruise soon and he wipes away his tears as he leaves. he hates that he has tears. he stays in the bathroom for a good minute more, processing what happened. he hates that gerard can do that. he hates that everything can fall apart as soon as that. frank doesn't ever plan to fall back to gerard, he didn't think he would today, but he did. and he decides he will never again. 

when he gets outside, lindsey and hayley are laughing to each other about something, but frank feels like doing anything but talking to them. 

"you okay?" lindsey asks, her eyes on gerard as him and patrick leave through the front door, gerard obviously pissed and patrick following submissively. frank wonders if gerard will fuck that pet tonight. he hopes he'll think of him when he cums again. frank wants his name etched in gerard's mind for the rest of eternity. he wants an impact that won't ever go away because he decides that he fucking hates gerard. he's an asshole. 

"i'm fine," frank replies, "let's go."

"what? why?" she says, "what happened?"

"nothing, i just don't wanna be here right now. we should go home." 

hayley and lindsey exchange looks, lindsey replies, "alright, but you have to drive. we've been drinking."

"that's fine," frank says, finding his way to the front bar to pay off his tab and then pull hayley and lindsey out to the truck where he wipes away the last of his tears and starts up the vehicle. the ride is silent for almost all the way home. frank is caught up in his thoughts, and his mind wanders from gerard to patrick to hayley to lindsey to gerard. 

he's so deep in thought that he doesn't see the driver who comes out in the middle of the intersection and hits their truck so hard it comes off the road and rolls twice over. 

it's something frank never forgives himself for, not even years later.


	6. Chapter 6

red. frank's eyes open for a moment. blue. they close. red. frank can hear screaming. blue. lindsey. red. the sound of the ambulance yelling down the road. blue. "fatal car crash, one dead, two injured." red. "hit and run presumed." blue. rubber gloves. red. the soft gurney. blue. red blood. red. black. 

the next think frank knows is the hospital sheets, and the harsh ache in his side. the taste of metallic blood filling his mouth. his ears are ringing and everything feels. bad. he hurts. so bad. and when he opens his eyes, he squints at the white hospital ceiling. it's bright, too bright and his head aches at the sight. 

things don't come back to him as soon as he wished they would, but the moment his mind wanders back to it, his heart drops and he reaches for something, anything to tell him something. he finds his phone on his bedside table. he doesn't have any notifications but he wastes no time in texting lindsey and hayley both, "what happened?"

he knows what happened, he remembers the car that came out of nowhere, he vaguely remembers the scream, and everything else is a blur. frank waits ten minutes but neither of them reply, so he sighs and pulls the hair from his face, stress taking over and he winces as he pulls the needle from his vein, pulling himself out of the bed and bringing his phone with him as he leaves the room. he still gets no reply from lindsey and hayley as a nurse confronts him in the hall, "what are you doing out of bed? have you been released?"

"i'm fine, i'm frank iero, my friends lindsey and hayley should be here, i'm not suffering from anything i just need to make sure they're okay," frank attempts, but the nurse pulls him back into the hospital room, shaking her head. she grabs the folder from beside his door and tells him to lay back down on the bed.

"i can tell you about your friends but i ask that you stay in this bed," she says, "you've sustained injuries to your ribs which will need to be bandaged for a while, but until we know the exact state, i'll have to ask you to stay in bed."

"what happened to lindsey and hayley?" frank asks, "can't they come in here? or i can go over there?"

the nurse shakes her head, "i hate to break the news but hayley, i think was her name, the one with orange hair, she died. the records say that..." she reads over the papers in hand, "on impact with a car running a red, you spun out, and collided with a tree which broke the windshield. debris penetrated her skull, and she died ten minutes later, we could not revive her. i can't give out medical records for lindsey but i can tell you she has not died. she is in another room currently unconscious. it's a miracle you're still alive, frank. you could have just as well ended up like hayley."

frank's grown deaf through the last few sentences and he stares at the wall as that sinks in. he takes a minute to say anything and when he does it's, "can you let me know when lindsey wakes up? please?"

"of course," the nurse replies, she stands and grabs the iv, but before she leaves she says, "we've notified your mom, but we're unsure if she'll be coming."

"she won't," frank replies, cutting the nurse off, laying back down.

"one more question."

"huh?"

"how old are the scars?"

"years old." months. 

•••

frank spends the next couple hours on his phone, watching the clock turn from 11pm to 1am and eventually, he finds himself falling asleep, unable to stay up with his thoughts. for some reason, the thought of hayley dying just isn't putting as much stress on him as he thought it would. he feels fine. he feels okay. maybe it's because he doesn't truly believe it, or maybe because he's just in denial, but he can't seem to focus on any one thing. everything is too fuzzy and he just wants to see lindsey. 

when he wakes up again, it's ten, it's the door that wakes him of the nurse coming in with bandages. "good morning, frank."

"morning," frank replies, monotone in his reply, "any news?"

"lindsey is awake, you can visit her once i check your bandages, can you lift up the gown for me, frank?" 

frank complies, lifting it up so she can look at his bandages. he barely even realized they were there, and as she unpeels them, he winces. there are bruises all across his stomach, and when he breathes in too deeply, there's a sharp pain in his right side. the nurse says to him, "you have a minor crack in your rib and it'll heal in about a month or two. we can prescribe painkillers if you need, but it should be alright."

frank nods, and watches as she throws away the old bandages, "if you want to, you can stand and walk, your clothes are on the chair over there."

she gestures to one in the corner of the room frank saw but didn't have the patience to go to, "and we're discharging you. lindsey is in room 2201 if you want to visit."

"thank you," frank says, "what about the things in the truck? the baby stuff that we bought."

"you should talk with lindsey about that," the nurse replies, "she'll know more."

frank nods, and watches as the nurse leaves, then pulls off the gown and dresses himself, eyes on the wall across from him. he still can't get his head cleared and all he wants to do is get home and try to figure it out, but he knows he needs to check on lindsey first so as soon as he can, he opens the door and heads over. 2201. it's two doors down. 

when he enters, the room is crowded with lindsey's parents and hayley's parents. hayley's mother is crying, a handkerchief in hand as she sobs. her father looks ill, rubbing her back while lindsey's parents are at her bedside, comforting her own crying. the moment frank walks in, he feels unwelcome, everyone's eyes go to him. hayley's father glares, but her mother is much harsher. 

"frank, you fucking bastard," she snarls, wiping her tears with her wet sleeves, "you killed her! you fucking killed her! and you think you can show your disgusting face in here? you think everything is forgiven?"

"mary-" her husband tries, but she shakes her head, ignoring him. 

"get out of here you fucking faggot! get out you killed my daughter! you killed her!" before she can step forward, though, hayley's dad holds her back and says to her, "let's take a minute, mary." and they leave, bumping into frank sharply as they find the hallway and the door shuts. the room goes silent and frank looks back to lindsey who's cuddled up in the sheets, choking back her tears. 

frank doesn't want to go towards the bed, because despite the fact hayley's parents are gone, lindsey's are still there, watching over her like guard dogs. her dad shoots frank daggers and frank's heart sinks. 

"can you two give us some time alone?" lindsey whispers. her parents exchange glances, but her mother nods, smiling down at her daughter, "of course, honey. we'll be right outside if you need us." and they follow hayley's parents out the door directly after. when the door finally closes again, the room is dead silent, even more than before and frank swallows back his guilt as he slowly comes to the bed, still unsure if he's welcome.

lindsey doesn't look at him, doesn't say anything and frank's heart sinks, but he doesn't dare speak first. lindsey takes the chance, "i don't blame you. but i don't think we'll be talking for a while."

frank nods even though she can't see him, "that's... fine. i understand."

"what happened? you were pissed after we left. something was wrong and you didn't say anything and then it happened. you didn't tell either of us what happened and i've been thinking about it. what was on your mind?" she looks at him for this, and frank realizes he can't just say nothing to this. this is serious and he owes this to her. he knows, logically, he couldn't have been the one to crash the car, the other person was running the red light. but the fact that frank didn't even look, didn't bother checking. the fact that he was the one in the driver's seat and he was the one that allowed it to happen. that's something unforgivable. that's something that needs an answer. 

"i'm in a complicated relationship with this man i met a couple weeks ago. we got into a fight in that bathroom, he was being an asshole. so i wasn't... i felt shitty. i wasn't happy, i was pretty pissed." frank shoves his hands into his pockets. 

lindsey hums, pulls her knees to her chest, wipes her eyes with her hand and says to frank, "you should leave."

"i'm sorry—"

"i don't want your apologies," lindsey hisses, "just... just go."

frank doesn't have to be told a third time and he immediately complies, turning away and shutting the door behind himself as he walks down the hall, completely ignoring lindsey's parents. hayley's have left. he hoped so. he's too busy dealing with his own thoughts to deal with more hatred. more blame. he calls a taxi home and as soon as he enters the door and drops off the bag, he stares at the wall far from him and parts his lips. everything spills out. 

he screams, loud, and long, and broken. and everything falls apart around him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay that’s itnfor updates for a little. this chapter is pretty smutty, enjoy your patrick/frank

frank doesn't leave his house for more than two hours for three weeks and everything feels dead to him. it took him three days to realize it, that it was really happening, that hayley was really gone and he had gone to her funeral despite the deadly glares that people shot him. he only stayed for ten minutes, enough to see her body in the casket, eyes shut and skin cold. enough to say goodbye and leave. and after that, everything came crashing down. he was on a downward spiral and nothing felt right. 

the moment he returns home, his entire body is shaking and the images of hayley are branded into his brain. they may never leave. frank remembers everything. he remembers he was thinking about gerard, about how he would get his revenge, about how he would worm himself into gerard's head and force his memory into him. and he remembers looking up from his steering wheel and seeing the headlights to his right and he remembers spinning out, the initial impact, the scream of lindsey. red, blue, red, blue. 

the shaking doesn't leave for a while, his hands are violent in the way they move and when he looks around his dark house he just feels so fucking helpless. he killed hayley. he murdered her. one of the only two people he felt that he could trust in this fucked up world he's in. the only light at the end of the tunnel. with her leaving, so has lindsey. and that was the last hope he had, the last shred of reason to stay the way he is. gone. just disappeared. and he can't blame anybody else but himself which makes this all the more tragic. 

the first thing he does is break. of course he breaks. because it's all he knows how to do. fighting won't help a damn thing. screaming won't help a damn thing. but crying could help. even if it's temporary. because hayley is gone. sweet, sweet hayley. they'd met years and years ago at a blink concert back when frank was still in college, and they bonded quick. hayley was still haden back then, and they exchanged numbers. they met up more, it was always platonic, haden was straight, always loved girls. and frank respected that. but they became best friends. even when haden came out as hayley and even when hayley moved away with lindsey. frank admired her, always had and always will. she was someone frank trusted with everything. 

and frank, frank killed her. 

he cries, for hours because it's all he knows what to do. he doesn't have anyone else to grieve with, nobody else to talk to. gerard is gone, lindsey is gone, hayley is gone. and it's just him. alone again. eventually his tears die down and he heads to the bathroom and he turns on the light. which is a first in a long time. the bruises are still on his neck but they're fading. he wishes they'd stay longer. he wishes someone else would give them to him. he tries to choke himself but it isn't the same, so he heads to the bedroom and covers his face with a pillow. he can't hold it any longer than two minutes and he hates that. he wants to die. more than anything. he wants the pain to just stop. he wants to forget it ever happened but no matter how har he tries to go back, he can't. because hayley is never going to reply to that text he sent and she's never going to see how sorry he is again because she can't. because she's fucking dead. 

frank falls asleep after crying until two in the morning and for the next two and a half weeks, he stays at home, his house becomes the mess it once was, he stops eating except for the few nibbles of lunch and dinner and he doesn't shower. surprisingly enough, on his second week, he gets a text from gerard. 

gerard: you haven't texted in a while and i'm not sorry about how i acted in the bar because i can't do the relationship we've had without some groundwork but i'm still worried about you. i haven't heard anything. 

frank reads it twice over, but he doesn't reply because gerard is still being an asshole and thinking about him just reminds him of hayley and he can't stand that. 

the final week passes and that's when he finally feels something more than self-hatred. and that's just normal hatred, for gerard. he's tired of blaming himself. tired of everything he's gone through and he needs to get out of the house. he wakes up at ten, makes himself breakfast, showers, gets dressed in the same leather jacket he wore when he first met gerard, and leaves at five to the bar. he isn't sure what he's expecting, if it's a dom, a sub, a switch. if it's gerard. if it's someone else he knows. but when he enters the bar, the first person he lays eyes on isn't gerard or lindsey or anyone else. 

it's patrick. 

he doesn't notice frank, he's listening to a man with a big beard and tattoos to hell, he's an absolute bear and everything except frank's type, it's nothing he would ever hook up with, but he respects patrick's taste. frank stares at them for a while, though, noticing how patrick looks somewhat drawn back, his legs closed, facing away, hands to himself, and frank knows enough about body language to know patrick doesn't want to be there. patrick shows the man something on his phone and the man nods, grinning. frank wonders what it would be as he sits on the other side of patrick in the only empty seat at the bar and listens in. 

"so how many people are you with right now? i'm with two, my partner jerry and his friend joseph but neither of them have really struck a chord with me lately, i'm not into the type of people who can't take much of you know what i mean." he lets out a deep, hearty chuckle and patrick types something in on his phone, then shows it over. frank still doesn't understand, but the man nods in reply, "gerard, huh? i haven't seen him around lately, he's just leaving you here alone? that doesn't seem real nice for a guy to do to a little sub like yourself." frank sees the man rub his fingers along patrick's inner thigh and patrick flinches away and only then does frank decide he's seen enough. he interrupts the conversation the only way he can think to.

"patrick? is that really you?" frank asks, tapping his shoulder. patrick whips around, and looks frank dead in the eye, but smiles a moment later, "it's been so long, how are you doing?"

patrick gives a thumb's up, doesn't talk to frank, though, but he does type up something and show it over, "please help me out of here, thank you."

frank turns to the man on the other side of patrick, "nice to meet you, i'm frank, patrick and i have been really good friends since back in elementary school, almost like brothers. we haven't seen each other in a. while, though. are you his boyfriend?"

the man looks at patrick and then frank, slight irritation in his eyes. he can't lie because patrick would certainly tell him off, and he can't tell the truth because then frank would tell him off so he just replies, "no, no, no, we just met. i have to get going, actually. but you should text me," the man says to patrick, "i can type it in your phone, if you'd let me."

patrick seems hesitant but hands it over anyways, keeping a watchful eye on him. he types it in and hands it back over, winking at him. frank glares, and when the man leaves he finally looks to patrick and smiles slightly. 

"hey."

hi, patrick types. frank frowns, "what's up with that?"

patrick gestures to his throat and presses a finger to his lips. mute. frank nods, a new light of understanding shedding on him, "that sucks, i'm sorry." patrick shrugs in reply and types up, you fucked with gerard for a while what happened?

frank looks away, "nothing really. we just have different... views of what kind of relationship it is we have. i'm not going back to him but he says i will. it was never a relationship. we fucked three times and that was it. i'm not going back to him cause i don't need him. i like the one night stands. i don't like relationships."

patrick nods, sipping on the drink he's abandoned up until now, 'he's a good guy. but i understand. i should repay you for helping me out. and you're a cool dude. do you wanna come back to my house if you're up for it?'

it takes a moment for frank to read it but when he does, he bites his lip, looking up at patrick. he did not expect that of all the outcomes of this, but he's certainly not gonna turn the offer down. it's been a long time since he's topped and patrick offering himself up is something he's not going to get for a long time again. frank has to consider it, though. because this is gerard's sub, and it might make it seem like he wants to get closer to gerard if he does, which isn't something he wants in the next thousand years, but at the same time, fucking his grief out sounds like the only good way to cope right now. he agrees, and patrick gives out this grin before typing out something for a solid five minutes. 

'i won't top, and i still have a pussy so if that's gonna freak you out, don't do it. i'll take it either way, whatever is most comfortable for you. i have toys and whatever at my place. i'm up to anything, don't refer to me as anything but a man and i'm fine with it.' 

frank understands, and says to patrick, "fine by me, you ready to go?" and patrick grins right back at him. 

they talk on and off on the drive to patrick's place, frank knows that as the top they should be going to his house but his house is a mess and he doesn't have any toys so patrick's house would be much better. he probably has things that he likes, and he seems like the type of person who can take a lot. they arrive to a small house, it's cozy. patrick parks the car, they agreed that frank would get dropped back off at the bar to pick up his truck either afterwards or in the morning. 

patrick leads frank in, unlocking the door with a key and shutting it behind them before leading them upstairs and into the bedroom. patrick looks at frank hesitantly, he isn't sure why but he sets that thought aside as patrick opens up his drawers, revealing a large selection of toys. frank looks them over, then gazes at patrick who's looking back up at him.

"safeword?"

patrick snaps in reply, and frank smiles softly, "take off your clothes and get on the bed, on your stomach." frank turns to the drawers, pulls out rope and a plug, one that vibrates, and some lube before turning back to patrick who is pulling down his skinny jeans and kicking off his shoes. frank notices the collar on his dresser, the one he wore when he'd left gerard's house the second time they met. frank wonders how often he wears it, if he's supposed to be wearing it right now but he doesn't ask. he doesn't want to think about gerard. 

patrick finishes and lays flat on the bed but frank pulls up his hips and licks a strip from his clit to his ass, and frank sees him grip the bed softly. frank pulls up and grabs the lube, squirting some onto his fingers, "you can take a lot, huh?" and patrick nods, turning his head to look at frank, but frank glares and he presses his head back into the pillow. "you're more of the master/slave type?" and patrick nods again. "24 hour thing?" patrick shrugs. frank hums. "you're a little slut, though." patrick shivers, and nods. "you can obey everything i tell you to do?" another nod. frank presses two fingers into his ass, without any warning, and patrick exhales, doesn't make a sound. frank feels somewhat awkward with that, because he doesn't like the lack of communication, but it's not a choice and he knows that. 

"you don't need permission to come," frank says, lubing up the plug and pressing it in, watching patrick bite the pillow in response. "but you're going to knock on the bedframe when you do." he watches at the plug disappears, with just the end decorating him. "you can deal with overstimulation, right?" patrick nods in reply and jerks when frank turns on the plug to the highest setting before turning him over, and tying one of his hands to the bedframe, "i'll be back." patrick watches intently as frank returns to the drawers and pulls out a vibrator, throwing it to patrick, "for your clit." frank looks for anything else that could help him out but finds nothing and shuts the drawer as he turns back, watching patrick look at him for permission. frank returns to the bed, but doesn't say a word to him as he tugs off his belt and throws it aside, pulling off his jeans, underwear, and shoes and discarding them with patrick's clothes. 

"you're gonna be a good boy for me," frank whispers, "you let me know if it's too much." he searches through the side drawer and finds a condom before pulling it on and coating himself in lube as well as patrick's pussy, pressing two fingers into him with ease. it's been a long time since frank's fucked someone with a cunt, but this night is something different than what he's had for the past few years. 

patrick's panting slightly already, just from the plug, and despite the fact that he can't speak, his expressions and his breathing gives off enough green signals for frank. he lines himself up, and groans out at the feeling of the plug right next to his cock and patrick inhales deep, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure, mouth wide open. his head is thrown back at the feeling of it and he almost drops the wand, panting. he mouths the word fuck to no one in particular as frank pushes all the way in, bottoming out at a good six inches. 

frank pulls the wand from patrick, one hand on his chest, touching his scars lightly and the other turning up the wand to the highest setting, handing it back, with a gentle, "you know best." 

patrick immediately gets to work pressing it to his clit as frank pulls out and pushes back in, gently. patrick bites his lip and spreads his legs wider as he finally finds something, jerking softly and shaking softly already. he's responsive, more so than frank anticipated. and when frank pulls his legs over his shoulders, he inhales sharply, gripping the bed frame at the new angle. his face is flushed, eyes shut and blond hair sticking like hell with the sweat. his legs are shaking already, but frank doesn't blame him, he'd be lying if he said he would last more than three minutes.

patrick's squirming and writing when frank finally begins steady rhythm, fucking into him especially deep and hard, groaning into patrick's neck. he's tight around him, and frank loves how it feels, especially when patrick's legs fall from his shoulders and his hands go to the headboard, trapping patrick's and his entire body goes into fucking him, using the board as leverage. frank uses everything he's got, his mind going to hayley and lindsey and gerard. patrick knocks on the headboard, body shaking and legs vibrating against frank's sides, but he ignores it, even when patrick begins squirming harder from the overstimulation. patrick can fucking suffer. not because he hates patrick but because that sadist in him gets relief from it. frank wonders how gerard would react when he finds out frank fucked his sub, wonders if he'd feel violated by it or if he'd just hate him. he wonders how gerard would react when he knows that he's probably given patrick a better time than he has in a long while. he hopes he's mortified. he wants to worm his way into gerard's life, leave his name behind every crevice. frank was here. frank was here. frank was here. this is revenge sex, this is hate sex, and frank hopes gerard hates him. he doesn't say any of this to patrick because he knows patrick would probably safeword out, or maybe he's too far gone to care. 

frank looks down at him, at how his face contorts beautifully and frank knows why gerard sticks with him. his mouth opens and his eyes are shut right and frank doesn't even realize he's crying until his entire body is coming down with the tears. frank's hands go to either side of patrick's head, still fucking into him, but he's lazy about it because if he's not, he'll be gone, too, and he wants to cherish this moment. 

"look at me," he whispers, pressing one hand under patrick's chin and forcing his head up. patrick's eyes meet frank's, baby blues gazing up, pain and pleasure mixing in his face, and it's beautiful. patrick is gorgeous when he's vulnerable when he obeys every command given to him, his hand is limp, but the vibe is still on his clit, frank's sure that's the only thing giving him release right now, but as frank pulls out and grabs it from him, pressing it right where they both feel it, patrick's back arches under him, and his spare hand goes to the bedsheets, gripping them hard. frank begins thrusting harder again, faster, picking up speed and patrick outright sobs, not a sound escaping his lips. he knocks again, his entire body shaking and frank watches his hand but he doesn't snap, he's okay. he can take it. and frank fucking adores that. but frank still wants more. 

"look at me," he repeats, more forcefully, and patrick complies, his eyes watering at the overstimulation, at the pleasure and the pain and how they contrast and how they comply and frank wipes away his tear with his free hand before he leans down and bites hard at his pale skin. patrick tries to push him away, and frank immediately stops, looking up, "you okay?"

patrick tries to mouth something, but frank doesn't understand until he signs something out with his hand. frank doesn't know much sign language, but he knows the alphabet. G-E-R-A-R-D. frank shoves his hand into the bed, and whispers out, "fuck gerard," before leaning back into patrick's neck and sucking hard, hard enough to make patrick flinch but he follows him. he loves this all the more.

when he finally pulls away, he's close, and he considers pulling out, but he really needs this. he admires the bruise he made, and how good it looks on patrick's pale skin. frank says to him, "you're such a slut." before he finishes off, thrusting hard right into patrick and patrick's hips lift from the bed. frank's sweating hard, but patrick is much worse, his hair a mess and his lips red from being bitten. frank digs the vibe into patrick's clit and his thighs seize up as he grinds back into frank shaking. frank pulls out all the way and patrick's thighs close at the loss, but frank yanks off the condom and patrick's hand goes to this cock, lubricated by patrick and the lube itself. patrick looks right up at frank as frank finally comes undone, spilling on patrick's chest and stomach. patrick pulls him until he's soft and frank's groaning at the feeling. 

"i think we can take you to one more," he says, pulling back until his face is no longer near patrick's. he turns off the vibe, throws it aside and shoves two fingers into him even though he's still stretched from his cock. his tongue goes to his clit which he quickly realizes is extremely sensitive, or maybe sore. patrick hits the wall at the feeling, and frank immediately looks up, "too much?"

patrick shakes his head nonetheless and frank takes that as permission to continue. he curls his fingers, hitting patrick's g-spot straight on while he sucks on patrick's clit and his legs curl around frank's head and he's outright grinding into frank's face as he finger fucks him well past his next orgasm. he barely even hears the knock on the headboard, but once it processes, he pulls away and looks up at patrick who's still got tears running down his cheeks. 

"you were amazing," frank whispers, turning off the plug, "you did so, so good for me."

patrick sniffles, wiping his tears and smiling slightly as frank unties his hand from the headboard, "so, so amazing." he cups his jaw and kisses him softly, patrick allows it, "i'm so proud of you." patrick stretches out, and pulls out the plug, grimacing slightly as he throws it aside and slows his breathing. grabbing his phone from the bedside table and typing up, 'thank you.'

"of course," frank replies, grabbing tissues from the bedside to wipe up the come still on patrick's front. he throws it away and lays down beside him, admiring the bruise on his neck, "when's the next time you'll see him?"

'tomorrow,' patrick writes, 'he's gonna be pissed about that but it's been a while since i've had a good punishment.'

frank hums, and kisses it again, before laying down and sighing, "i'll wake you up early, i promise."

patrick smiles softly, and gets up to go to the bathroom, wincing slightly when he stands. frank watches him go and heard the shower a couple minutes later, and he falls asleep to the sound of the water running to the drain.


End file.
